one million two hundred twenty-six
by decrescence
Summary: He start at the very beginning. EreMika.


**a/n: here's a little something a wrote as a christmas present for one of my friends. it's a bit short, but i hope you enjoy. and merry christmas! ^^**

* * *

Though Eren's bones are made of titanium and are twined with steel, today, he hesitates.

Ghosts climb the bends of his arms, and he shivers against snow-white sheets despite the golden sunlight ribbons streaming through the bedroom's half-open window. Pulling a thin, cloud-soft comforter closer to his chin, Eren sighs, silently regretting his previous compliance to Mikasa's complaints of always being warm enough without proper blanketing when she moved in.

A slight upturn of the lips marks his face then, at the thought of Mikasa, his childhood friend, girlfriend, and now, wife. His jade eyes flit to hers, but Mikasa's moon-water irises are hidden beneath closed lids and the curl of her lashes, so he studies her features instead.

Asleep, she seems more relaxed, as if she had never carried the weight of the world upon her shoulders—but either way, she is beautiful; she is _always_ beautiful, Eren decides. She has always been beautiful.

But still, even now, it is strange for him to see her neck as bare as it is, without the gossamer whisper of her red scarf there to encompass her in its touch. He is the only one who ever sees her unprotected by it—their promise and everything it stands for—because that is how much she trusts him, and that in itself is what keeps Eren's heartbeat alive.

Her palms lay open, unclenched and empty, just a few spaces from his, and her arms remain uncrossed and comfortably spread beside her. There are galaxies of faded, back-in-the-day battle scars ornamenting the ivory expanse of her skin, far too many for Eren to count. A lump rises in his throat as he holds out his own arm in comparison—she is decorated with far more old wounds than him, and he knows the exact reason why.

Despite the newborn scowl on Eren's mouth, Mikasa's expression is calm, tranquil, and serene, the arch of her brows lessened in her slumber. It is the same expression she sometimes wears when she looks at him, although when she is awake, the look is fleeting and barely there. But through the years, Eren has noticed the soft sparks in her eyes, and secretly, he hopes she has not glimpsed the identical ones that show in his.

Eren's gaze slowly shifts to her lips and settles there for several fluttering moments, and that is when his scowl subsides and he almost laughs aloud. Quietly, a low, hollow chuckle escapes his mouth, and he shakes his head in spite of himself. _Pathetic, _he thinks, _throughout all these years, she still makes your heart pang like it's the first time you've seen her. _

Raising his body to hover over hers, Eren places his hands against the mattress beside her head and returns his eyes to the muted ruby of her lips, the lips that in his lifetime he has kissed one million two hundred twenty-five times and counting. And he pauses.

_"Mikasa—"_ he rasps suddenly, then trails off with a trio of unspoken words still on his tongue.

Her sleeping form stirs beneath him, and she shifts so she lies flat on her back. He freezes at her abrupt intake of breath and the rise and fall of her chest, but instead of opening her eyes, Mikasa's lips part and mumble something that sounds strangely like his name but he can't be quite sure.

Eren lowers himself, halving the distance between them, before hesitating again. _"I love you," _is what he cannot say, despite all the times he has come so close. Their relationship has almost always been silent, implicit, but understood, and those words have barely ever been spoken—there has never been a _need_ to utter them because both Mikasa and Eren have always simply_ known _deep inside_, _and the thought has been carved into the hollow crevasses of their bones and branded in the hearts of their souls_. _

So, instead, Eren dips his head, touches his mouth to Mikasa's, and kisses her with all the _"I love you"_s that have ever gone unsaid. He starts at the very beginning.


End file.
